


(bat)families of choice

by Della19



Series: more time [2]
Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Cinematic Universe, Wonder Woman (2017), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: #bat families of choice, Bruce Wayne and his feelings, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Series, Wonder Woman 2017 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Della19/pseuds/Della19
Summary: Bruce doesn’t come to Paris for her. And sure, so maybe that fact that he only sent her the photograph a week ago plays a role.  Maybe he just…wants to see if she’s alright.  Because he might not know the exact story of what happened to the man in that picture, but he’d recognize that pain in her eyes anywhere.He’s seen it in the mirror enough.He doesn’t quite know what he expects to find when he knocks.The dead man who opens the door certainly wasn’t it though.  Bruce stares at the dead man, and the dead man stares back.The dead man also has a gun.“So, you’re Batman,” Steve Trevor says.Or: #batfamiliesofchoice.





	(bat)families of choice

***************************

 

 _“A family can be the bane of one's existence. A family can also be most of the meaning of one's existence. I don't know whether my family is bane or meaning, but they have surely gone away and left a large hole in my heart.”_ ― **Keri Hulme** , **The Bone People**

 

***************************

 

Bruce doesn’t come to Paris for her. There’s a layover while the jet refuels, and it was either Paris or Brussels and really, what kind of choice was that?  And okay so maybe that fact that he only sent her the photograph a week ago plays a role.  Maybe he just…wants to see if she’s alright.  Because he might not know the exact story of what happened to the man in that picture, but he’d recognize that pain in her eyes anywhere.

 

He’s seen it in the mirror enough. 

 

There’s a box, deep inside of him, that he shoves that feeling down into, seals the lid tightly. 

 

It’s quite full, that box.

 

She lives, he discovers, in a place that very much suits her.  Her penthouse is in an elegant building, all warm wood and sparking glass.  There is a small caged elevator, but Bruce – never overly fond of cages – elects to take the stairs.  The door boasts a knocker of fine, woven brass, and it produces a strong tuneful sound when he raps it against the door twice, in quick succession before he can lose his nerve. 

 

He doesn’t quite know what he expects to find.

 

The dead man who opens the door certainly wasn’t it though.  Bruce stares at the dead man, and the dead man stares back.

 

The dead man also has a gun.

 

“So, you’re Batman,” Steve Trevor says.

 

***************************

 

“You’re dead,” Bruce says, quite intelligently he thinks, given the circumstances.  Because look, Bruce has seen some crazy shit.  Criminal clowns, crocodile men, alien death monsters, and an ageless woman who can suplex a dump truck.  Bruce decided that putting a bat suit on and punching criminals in the face was an acceptable career choice. 

 

Bruce _gets_ weird.

 

This is kind of blows that other stuff out of the water, so to speak. 

 

“I was, for a while,” the not so dead guy – who is still absolutely holding a gun, for all that he’s not pointing it at Bruce – says, blandly, “Zeus went and took my soul from the Underworld, brought me back to life.”

 

Bruce kind of regrets not taking that layover in Brussels. Lovely place really.  Probably less Greek god mediated resurrection there. 

 

“Well, how about that,” Bruce says, lamely, because look, aliens were plausible, superfast lightning guys, fine.  Cyborgs? Sure, bring it.  Guy who can talk to fish? He can get behind that, mostly. 

 

Actual _gods_ are somehow just so much… _more_. 

 

He has this sudden, inescapable memory of those signs people thrust at Clark, calling him a false god.  He can still hear the mournful wheeze of bag pipes at his funeral.  

 

He’d been such a narrow minded fool.

 

“Yep,” the dead guy – and Bruce supposes he should really start thinking of him, if nothing else, as Steve – says, tucking the gun away into a holster on his back, “You want to come in? Diana’s just at the market getting groceries.”

 

And then, with a twinkle in his eyes that speaks of a great and powerful understanding, “We have booze.”

 

Bruce steps in. 

 

***************************

 

Bruce is about half way through a pint of quite excellent pale lager when he remembers something that, in hindsight, is a little bit important.

 

Not, _gods are real_ important, Bruce allows, but still, _so, you’re Batman,_ does rather need to be addressed.

 

“She told you about…” He starts, and then trails off in a shrug that he hopes somehow expresses _that Batman thing_ , but mostly he thinks probably looks like some kind of muscle spasm. 

 

“We had a lot of talking to get caught up on,” Steve says, with a faraway look in his eyes that speaks of something more than sheer happiness, before he turns back to Bruce and assures, “She’s not spreading it around, or anything.”

 

Any response Bruce was going to make is cut off by Diana’s arrival, and as she steps in, her entire focus is on Steve, whom she looks at like the sheer opportunity to be able to do so is still a miracle that she has not yet had the time to acclimatize to.

 

Bruce finds himself almost surprised when she does actually does turn and address him, for all that she and Steve might as well be the only two people in the world. 

 

“Bruce, what a nice surprise, how lovely of you to stop by,” Diana says, with a genuine, kind smile for him, and Bruce reminds himself not to underestimate this woman, and her sheer capacity for goodness, “You’ve already met Steve.”

 

And then, with a proud smile at the sheer _stunner_ of a woman who has just followed her into the apartment, almost _unfairly_ beautiful with what Bruce has the feeling is Steve’s bright blue eyes and Diana’s noble chin, “This is our daughter, Helen. Her wife will be joining us later.”

 

 _Helen Trevor is pregnant,_ Bruce notes, her glow of pregnancy not quite offsetting the look of pure _displeasure_ in her eyes when she looks at him in her parents’ home.  Helen Trevor clearly knows who he is, and just as clearly doesn’t like his presence in her mother’s life. 

 

Helen nods at him, once.  Bruce nods back. 

 

Bruce takes another long drink.

 

“I did, we’ve been chatting,” he says to Diana lightly, and he’s not upset about the surprise of this, couldn’t even really claim to be able to be, because he’s certainly not sat down and told her anything about his past, and he’d never begrudge her any measure of happiness.  Still, because he’s still trying to wrap his head around this one, he can’t help but finish with, “He told me how Zeus brought him back to life.”

 

“Yes,” Diana says, and her almost impossibly beautiful face becomes positively _luminous_ as she takes Steve’s hand, presses an absent kiss to it, for nothing more than the sheer pleasure of being able to do it, “My father was very kind.”

 

 _Ah, good, right then_ , Bruce thinks, and wonders distantly if this is what having a stroke feels like. 

 

Steve just wordlessly hands him another beer.

 

Bruce thinks he could learn to like Steve. 

 

“So you’re that guy who dresses up as a bat,” Helen says, speaking for the first time, her accent surprisingly poshly British, sparing only the barest of glances at him, hands still busy unpacking fresh vegetables, absolutely everything about her delivery exuding just how decidingly unimpressed she is at that fact.

 

Bruce thinks the only other woman who managed even a degree of the same was Selina. 

 

 _Straight_ into the box with that one _._

 

“Helen is upset that I did not call her about Doomsday,” Diana says in explanation to Bruce, and then with gentle reproach turns what are unmistakably _mom eyes_ at her daughter.  And Helen, whom Bruce can only assume is somewhere in the vicinity of being a _century_ old, doesn’t miss a beat in turning towards Steve and drawling, batting her eyes at him in a way Bruce is sure has brought lesser men to their very _knees_ , “You agree with me, don’t you _dad_?”

 

Bruce is sure Steve responds, can see his mouth moving to do it.  Bruce has no idea what he actually says, however, because he doesn’t hear a single word.  Instead, he hears only the staticky rush of his own blood in his ears as he tries to push the memories that word provokes down, _deep_ away.

 

He fails.

 

Dick used to call him _dad_ , just like that.

 

He’d throw in that teasing _whine_ , draw it out until it was almost unrecognizable as a word and Bruce had no choice but to yank him down to the gym by the ear and train until he begged laughingly for mercy.  Sometimes he can still hear it in his dreams, watch in vivid technicolor how Dick would dart behind Alfred, and Alfred’s dry, twinkle-eyed retort of, _I see training is going well Master Dick._

 

Bruce doesn’t sleep much, these days.

 

When Bruce comes back to himself, Diana and Helen are in the midst of a clearly old and pleasant arguement about the right amount of spice that should go into some burbling pot that smells of tomatoes and oregano and the kitchen at the mansion Bruce will stumble into in the early hours of the morning, and find a homemade meal sitting carefully covered in the fridge. 

 

And Steve Trevor?

 

Steve is just looking at Bruce, and the sheer _understanding_ in those eyes makes feel like he’s ten years old again, with Detective Gordon’s jacket wrapped around him and Alfred’s hand on his shoulders, and _come on Master Bruce, let us go home_.

 

Steve Trevor, Bruce knows, was a soldier in a dark time, who fought and died for his beliefs. 

 

In his eyes, Bruce can tell that he too understands how much harder it is to _live_ for them. 

 

“Come on Bruce,” Steve Trevor says, with nothing behind those _shockingly_ blue eyes - because look, Bruce is a detective and about a 3 on the Kinsey scale and also not _fucking blind_ \- but a welcoming smile, “stay a while.”

 

And Bruce finds himself considering Steve Trevor. 

 

Steve Trevor, who clearly knows Bruce could have easily fallen in love with the woman he loves. Steve Trevor, who also clearly doesn’t care, because it would be holy impossible to mistake the sheer depth of Diana's love, that practically _shines_ from her eyes. Steve Trevor, who looks comfortable in his own existence in a way Bruce has never been without his cowl and his cape. 

 

Steve Trevor, who looks at Diana like Thomas Wayne used to look at Martha Wayne.  Diana, who looks at Steve the way his mother used to look back.  And Helen Trevor, a woman grown with a wife and child of her own on the way, who looks at her parents in the way that Bruce will never get to.

 

He’s so very _tired_. 

 

Bruce knows he probably shouldn’t. He’s got a meeting in Tokyo tomorrow that he really can’t afford to miss.  Bruce is a busy man, with so many responsibilities and so little free time, even without his nighttime activities. 

 

 _This little family is so beautifully complete, there cannot possibly be room for him_.

 

And yet, for some reason he can’t take his eyes away from Diana’s daughter. Helen Trevor, whom Bruce thinks it’s likely an _understatement_ to say doesn’t like him all that much.  A woman who only recently had her deceased father of almost a century returned to her, and who cannot be thrilled at the idea of sharing _any_ of him with strangers.

 

Bruce cannot even think of how he would feel in that situation.

 

He won’t _let_ himself.

 

And yet, he’s still looking at Diana’s daughter, and her hands as they set, unthinkingly at her father’s words - like it’s a forgone conclusion - another place around their table. 

 

It’s been a very long time since Bruce sat at a family table.

 

He should leave.

 

***************************

 

He stays awhile. 

 

***************************

 

Somewhere, deep inside of him, the lid on that box cracks, just the tiniest bit, _open_. 

 

***************************

 

FIN

 

***************************

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, I’m terribly flattered at how well received _world and time enough_ has been so far, and so pleased you guys have enjoyed it! This movie was so good that this is probably going to end up as a series for me, because I definitely have the time for another one of those ;) 
> 
> So…Batfleck. I really liked his portrayal; I thought his Batman was good, but more importantly that his Bruce Wayne was quite humorous and had just the right amount of yet to be explored man pain. And I love the trailer for Justice League, because it finally feels a little bit like movie!Batman showing his inner comic!Batman, where instead of being a black hole of loneliness, he’s actually just adopting people into his bat-family so fast Alfred is running out of spare rooms. So, here’s kind of that…with a healthy heaping of 3rd person POV on my new OTP, because that’s a trope that I do happen to love ;) Watch the movie, enjoy, comment and all that good stuff.


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